


Green

by orphan_account



Series: Refraction [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gameface, Gen, Pressure, Sick Character, Stomach Ache, Stress, Vomiting, contents under pressure, heavy is the head, losing a game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>His head is still ringing from the bench he bowled over, tumbled through, to keep the ball in play. </p><p>Written for <a href="http://oikawaweek.tumblr.com/prompts">Oikawa Week 2016</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3: July 16 Beginnings | Endings | Green (Growth/Self-Reliance) 
> 
> Emetophobic friends skip from “There’s a burning” to “It’s impossible to say.” If a panicked/stress reaction to a situation might upset you, skip from “He ducks outside” to “It’s impossible to say.” Stay safe, everyone!

He reads the play. He reads the play, positions for it perfectly. Perfectly. But… it glances off of Kindaichi’s fingertips. It hits his wrist like a slap to the face. It doesn’t even hurt, not in that moment. It’s just …a shock. 

Tooru doesn’t breathe when it pops up wrong that way, after the touch. He doesn’t breathe when he hears it bounce, that slow echo that rolls over in his stomach and fills him up with a sense of empty, hopeless loss. Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The whistle blows, piercing, shrill, final. Karasuno #10 screams in joy, and his teammates scream with him.

Tooru stands slowly, dazed, and turns to stare after the ball. From the corner of his eye he sees Kindaichi fold over on himself in dismay -makes a note even then, that they’ll have to nip that in the bud, address that sooner rather than later, there’s no room for that- sees it, notes it, and stares at the ball in the corner. His head is still ringing from the bench he bowled over, tumbled through, to keep the ball in play. Now, the ball is still. His head is full of cotton. His eyes are blurred, and he can’t even tell if it’s tears or if he’s just having a stroke. Either one seems remarkably possible in the moment, because the ball is just… over there. The team collapses in dismay on his side of the net, dying slowly like the echo of that last, fateful bounce of the ball.

He steps forward as Karasuno springs to life with their delirious cheers, drawn to the net. Drawn to Tobio. Tooru steps forward and stares him down, awed, furious, and yes… afraid. Tobio isn’t a lone sheep anymore. Tobio has a team now, and with a team, he’s a dangerous man. Tooru faces him head on, stares into the abyss that surrounds that horrible, ingenious boy. Takes him all in, unflinching. 

In that moment, Tooru refuses to flinch. The tournament may be over for them, but this is truly, in his mind, the beginning. In this moment, the sprout of their rivalry truly breaks through the rough soil, reaches one tendril out into the sun. All of Tooru’s fondest hopes and worst fears take root at the same time.

He blinks, but not until after the moment is finished. The moment is important, and he holds it, and then it’s finished, and he blinks. He calls his team up to the stands. They thank their supporters, he gives them their talk, their morale boost. Tears run down all of their faces, and the defeat tastes bitter in the back of his throat. Tooru showers quickly. The others move slowly, weighed down by their misery and in some cases their guilt -he’ll address that. He needs to address that quickly- but Tooru only rinses and runs while the others scrub, scrub, scrub as if they can wash the stench of it away down the drain.

He ducks outside, still wet, not even properly toweled off. Dizzy, dripping. The others scrub their skin pink and raw and Tooru escapes to the alley just out back to crouch and take deep, gulping breaths of air. The air won’t stay in his lungs. It wheezes in and out, hissing, sliding like an oiled snake. His stomach writhes, his head spins. He feels a little green around the gills, and he can’t bear to look them in the face yet. He read that play.

There’s a burning in Tooru’s throat. His mouth fills with saliva. He cradles his head in his heads and closes his eyes, trying to breathe slowly, steadily. Trying to will the surge of nausea away. It doesn’t recede, though. Tooru finds himself scrambling to his feet and bracing against the wall with one hand, pressing the other against his tumultuous insides in an attempt to calm them. He heaves violently, spraying the wall with his lunch, and probably his breakfast as well. 

His head rings even louder, and everything else dims around him. Tooru coughs, splutters, and then retches until he feels like his stomach will turn itself right out of his body. Everything inside of him upends, pours out on the pavement, and all he can do is gasp and choke on it.

It’s impossible to say how long he spends there, but as soon as he comes back to his senses he knows there isn’t time to waste. There are things to address inside. Tooru spits to clear his mouth and shoves off of the wall, squaring his shoulders off proudly and holding his head high as he walks around the building. There’s a schedule to keep.


End file.
